בס"ד

This blog post is a summary of a powerful lesson on the significance of the month of Elul. It’s definitely worth watching the full lesson on YouTube for a deeper insight. Here, we share some key ideas and practical lessons on how we can use our speech in daily life to build rather than break.

The month of Elul has begun.

For most people, that’s just another Hebrew month. But for those who are awake—for Jews and for Bnei Noach—it’s something more. It’s the beginning of the end, and the beginning of a new beginning.

Judgment for the Whole World

The Mishnah tells us that there are four times during the year when the world is judged. And Rosh Hashanah, which begins in 30 days, is one of them. On Rosh Hashanah all the inhabitants of the world pass before Hashem like Bnei maron.

What does Bnei maron mean? The Talmud in Tractate Rosh Hashanah gives three explanations:

The point is this: Rosh Hashanah is not just a Jewish holiday. It certainly is the Jewish New Year, but since the whole world is judged, since every single one of us—both Jew and Noahide—is individually seen and weighed by G-d, it’s not just about us. It’s about the world. It’s about you.

On this day, there are no distractions, no hiding in the crowd. Each of us stands before the One who formed us. And this includes you—those who have taken upon yourselves a life of moral clarity and spiritual responsibility. You’re not a bystander. You’re a soul in the arena.

The Journey of Elul

Elul is a 30-day journey leading to Rosh Hashanah. In Jewish tradition, Elul is a month of teshuva—return, awakening, repair.

The verse in Song of Songs (6:3) states: “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li”—I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. Song of Songs is understood to be an allegory about the love between the Jewish people and G-d, using the imagery of lovers to express the depth of the connection.

The Hebrew month Elul (אלול) is read as an acronym for this verse. It becomes a time of closeness.

Where does this association come from? After the sin of the golden calf, Moses ascended Mount Sinai a second time to receive the new tablets. The Midrash and Rishonim, including Rashi on Deuteronomy 9:18, teach that this second ascent began on Rosh Chodesh Elul (the first day of Elul), and Moses descended 40 days later on Yom Kippur. These 40 days became a divinely designated period for mercy, closeness, and teshuva.

The Baal HaTanya (the founder of the Chabad Chassidic movement) adds a powerful image in Likkutei Torah. Before the king returns to his palace, he journeys through the field. Anyone who wants may approach him. The king receives each person with joy, showing a pleasant countenance to everyone.

This is the month of Elul. Hashem is accessible—not hidden behind palace walls. Of course, this is an analogy. G-d is always present, everywhere at all times. But during Elul, our hearts are more receptive. The doors are open wider.

For Noahides, this is not a commandment. It is a divinely orchestrated opportunity—a time when we perceive G-d to be near and waiting for us to come close.

The Sound of the Shofar

Another central feature of Elul is the shofar.

The prophet Amos (3:6) asks: “If the shofar is sounded in the city, will the people not tremble?” The answer is obvious—of course they will.

In Jewish practice, we find in the Tur (Orach Chaim 581) the custom to sound the shofar every morning of Elul. This prepares the soul for the central shofar blasts of Rosh Hashanah, which are not symbolic—they are the mitzvah of the day.

But why does the sound of a ram’s horn make people tremble? In ancient times, the shofar announced battle, famine, drought, the coronation of a king, or the arrival of the Divine Presence. Its sound bypasses the intellect. It is raw, stirring, and unmistakable. It pulls the soul from its sleep.

The Gemara in Rosh Hashanah asks: Why do we sound the shofar? To confound the Satan.

Now, who is Satan? Not a devil. Not a red angel with wings, horns, and a pitchfork. In Torah thought, the Satan is the spiritual prosecutor—part of G-d’s system of justice. He tests, accuses, and reveals our inner contradictions. The Gemara tells us that the Satan, the Yetzer Hara (evil inclination), and the Angel of Death are all one paradigm. They obscure our view of G-d’s light, but this very obscurity makes free will possible.

When the shofar is blown on Rosh Hashanah, he is “confounded.” Not by volume, but because when a person truly returns to G-d, there is nothing left to prosecute. The inner accuser is silenced. The Yetzer Hara is stopped in its tracks.

During Elul, the daily shofar is gentler but no less urgent: a reminder to prepare, to wake up, to ask—Am I living in truth?

Justice, Justice Shall You Pursue

This year, Rosh Chodesh Elul falls during the week of Parashat Shoftim, which begins with the verse (Deuteronomy 16:20): “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

This verse is central to both Jewish law and the Noahide code. One of the Seven Noahide Laws is to establish systems of justice, as found in Tractate Sanhedrin.

Why the repetition—justice, justice? The sages explain: one justice refers to judges, and the other refers to us. Ramban adds that we must pursue justice through just means.

For Bnei Noach, this is not abstract. It means:

It is a test of truthfulness. Even when no one is watching: Am I honest in business? Am I trustworthy in relationships? Do I stand up for what’s right, or do I remain silent?

Elul is not just for fixing the world. It’s for fixing yourself.

Teshuva: Return, Not Guilt

Teshuva is usually translated as repentance, but that’s not quite right. The English word “repent” comes from the Latin penitere—penitence, sorrow.

But the Hebrew teshuva komt van shuv—to return. Teshuva is not about beating yourself up. It’s about returning to your true self—the self aligned with your soul, your Creator, your purpose, your values.

The Rambam writes (Hilchot Teshuva 2:6) that even if a person sins their whole life, if they return at the end, nothing stands in the way of teshuva. If this is true for the Jewish people, it is true for all moral beings.

Elul becomes a season of mercy—for anyone who cares about the world and about themselves.

The King Is in the Field

You are not asked to become someone else. You are not commanded to take on rituals that are not meant for you. But you are invited to make Elul a time of moral clarity, to listen to the shofar of your own conscience, to hold yourself and your society accountable, and to know:

The King is in the field.

It’s not a time to sit back and do nothing. As a Ben Noach, you are judged on Rosh Hashanah. You are capable of teshuva. You are called to moral responsibility.

This is the month to reflect, to clarify your path, to repair your relationships, to restore your honesty, to seek G-d with sincerity—because all you need is honesty, and the courage to pursue justice with all your heart.

The King is in the field. And He’s waiting for you.

Door rabbijn Tani Burton

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